


white rose petals

by mssjynx



Category: Gay baby gang
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssjynx/pseuds/mssjynx
Summary: two years of loving him. two years of being loved. two long years of everything mason ever wanted.until he wakes up with flowers in his lungs and blood on his tongue.





	white rose petals

**Author's Note:**

> when will the gay baby gang become a proper tag for this fandom  
> when will mason and matt and the other gbg/misfits boys become proper characters for this fandom  
> when will there be valiDATion where validation is due!!!

two years. two whole years.

he clamped a hand over his mouth, scared of sobbing too loud and waking the sleeping man in the room over. the bathroom tiles froze bruises onto his knees. his fingers were stiff and sore from gripping the rim of the toilet bowl.

fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. his whole body ached: a sign that he was about to be hit again. no matter how prepared he was: he couldn’t make it easier. he couldn’t make it hurt less.

two fucking years.

a different kind of pain sprouted in mason’s chest. he’d grown familiar to it. an old friend.

it was a ripping and tearing kind of pain. embedded in the lining of his lungs, the tissue splitting apart to make space for something new, something uninvited. like roots. little plants.

he could feel them grow. feel each one tear open the lungs’ lining to feast on mason’s every breath. feel each one open up, spreading wide, thin petals and suffocating both lungs of space.

his body heaved and, as he knew would happen, his breathing was completely cut off. alike a rope around his neck, or hands, or plastic over his nose and mouth: except in this case there was nothing to rip off, to release. all he could do was wait and hope and beg.

and they uprooted. the roots in his lungs dissolved, the flowers collecting in a mass of petals. his body knew how to do this. it had been doing it for hours.

mason dropped his hand away from his quivering lips, vision darkening as he slowly suffocated. _it’ll be over in a moment_ , he promised himself, hauling his upper body over the toilet bowl. his legs shook. _almost, mason_.

he couldn’t hold it back.

liquid rushed up out of his lungs, thin and clear like water. it washed up his throat and carries with it curled up flower petals, spotted red with blood. the feeling was unimaginably painful.

suffocating to the point of almost passing out until your own lungs decide to reject the growths that filled them up: it was an ugly disease.

mason coughed into the toilet bowl, heaving in deep breaths. it was blissful to have clear lungs. almost blissful enough that he could ignore the bleeding wounds within them left behind by those pretty white rose petals.

he sat for a moment, head hanging. tears dropped to the pink-tinged toilet water. when he gathered enough strength, he pushed himself to his feet and flushed the toilet. petals swirled and disappeared. they didn’t need to be seen by anyone other than him.

his dirty little secret of his own unrequited love.

 

it had been two years since matt had first asked him to be his boyfriend, sitting on the beach stoned at one a.m. they’d planned to go with friends but ended up being the only two that hadn’t bailed and decided: fuck it, why waste the chance?

with their weed and each other, they sat at the end of the jetty for an hour, talking about all sorts as they watched the water. when they half-ran, half-stumbled back to the sand, they fell down beside each other giggling and grinning.

it was so natural for matt to roll over and press his lips to mason’s, leaning over him with one hand in his hair. there was no questioning it, there was no talking about it. they kissed and kissed and kissed, chatting between making out like there had been no change at all. and when they were curled up in the sand with a blanket around the both of them, matt mumbled to mason half in his sleep and asked him if they wanted to be boyfriends.

mason hadn’t expected matt to remember when they woke up, sober. nor had he expected matt to reinforce the question and make sure that mason knew he was serious.

it was perfect. mason couldn’t have wanted anything else.

they fell in love, they fell hard and he loved every single second of it for two long beautiful years.

until now. until this. until the thing he didn’t think was even possible happened because he loved matt so completely and matt was supposed to love him just as much. but he didn’t. he didn’t and he didn’t say a word. as mason fell deeper every single day, matt had been swimming back to the surface and it was far too late for him to dive back into waters he didn’t want.

so the flowers bloomed, wilting on mason’s tongue like the love matt had lost for him. he could only wonder when, he could only wonder why.

there was a part of his mind that remained foolish. no matter the reality of it, or the pain of throwing up flower petals every time matt turned away: he remained foolish. _hopeful_. because what if there was a chance the flowers would stop, the love would return. what if matt would fall back in. what if…

one month was all he could take. his hope died.

every kiss tasted bitter. every “i love you” was rehearsed. every time he looked into those big brown eyes he felt roses bloom in his lungs.

he couldn’t last any longer.

 

“matt.”

his voice was hoarse, throat aching, lungs bleeding. matt sat in bed, closing his book and looking up to mason. he didn’t stand. mason leant heavily on the doorway, legs shaking. concern grew in big brown eyes. “masie, are- are you okay?”

“when did you… stop loving me?” the words hurt more than the flowers. his body ached. warning.

brown eyes widened. brown eyes that he had fallen in love with. brown eyes that had loved him too. brown eyes that no longer did.

“what- mason, i- i didn’t. i haven’t!”

mason shook his head, gritting his teeth and sliding down the wall to the floor. he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. tears welled in his eyes. agony sprouted in his lungs. “please-…” he coughed, choking on the words. “please don’t lie. not now… please.”

disbelief. guilt. matt stood, taking a step towards mason. “mason… i love you. i do.”

a hand raised, fingers shaking. matt stopped. mason didn’t lift his head. “no,” he murmured, tears spilling. his other hand raised to his mouth. coughing. choking. he felt them bloom. he felt them fill his chest. “no, you don’t. you don’t.”

he shook as he rolled onto his knees, whole body heaving. the coughing was hard and painful, tearing up his throat. he gagged.

matt took two steps back. mason whined, and with one last hard cough managed to dislodge the intrusions. he spat them into his hand, the familiar feeling of soft petals between his fingers. they glimmered, slick and bloody.

there was no hiding it anymore. no more lying. no more pretending.

mason glanced up, catching those guilt-filled eyes. matt fumbled behind him for the doorknob, unable to tear his eyes away from the crumbling mess that he had once loved. he shook his head. horrified. “i- i’m sorry… mason, i’m so sorry.”

mason breathed a laugh. bitter. “don’t be.”

his body lurched with the force of its rejection. water spilt from his mouth. blood-stained petals fell to the carpet. matt fled the room. the front door slammed shut.

white rose petals fell from mason’s tongue, bloody and broken like his lungs and his heart.


End file.
